there's nobody out there
behind the voice

all there is
is this vacuum in void

filled with rotten
flowers and emptied sun

drifting around the
asteroid belt

where frequencies
are sung

filling sequenced days
from the last

in various ways
blooming into melancholic
art

alcoholic space
and in an unholy flask

sailing across the page
between the lines

not enough velocity to
to escape the mind

stuck forever in this
fallen place,

diseased and blind

isn't universe just
a cage that

no poet can rhyme;

nobody can hear you scream
on mars, nevermind.